


See Where It Goes

by aspen_rumer



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, i have no idea how to tag this, it gets awkward, omg I'm so sorry, there's a boner in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspen_rumer/pseuds/aspen_rumer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night of heavy drinking, Dethklok's bassist William Murderface is given the task of bringing the band's favourite hot mess (Pickles) to bed. Things get awkward. And gay as hell.</p><p>SO. I have no idea how to write Murderface. I probably totally botched his character, but hey I tried. I also indulged a little bit in here, throwing some of my favourite Pickles headcanons in here (Pickles totally used to rock neon crop tops and silver leggings back in the day shut up)</p><p>This ended up a lot more angsty than I thought it would be. I am trash. I only write trash. </p><p>I wrote this for a friend of mine on tumblr! I really hope you like it because I am so nervous oh my god</p>
            </blockquote>





	See Where It Goes

It was a typical Tuesday night in Mordhaus. After successfully recording two whole songs with minimal emotional and physical damage, the band had dismissed themselves to indulge in an evening of heavy drinking and debauchery. At the end of the night, the band engaged in a classic game of “not it” to decide just who would be carrying a certain nearly passed-out redheaded drummer to his bedroom.  
As per usual, Murderface wasn't paying attention and lost, leaving him with the task of hauling an overwhelmingly drunk Pickles away to bed.  
“How the hell are you so heavy?” the bassist lisped as he dragged Pickles down the hall. The drummer murmured something unintelligible and took another sip of the nearly empty tequila bottle held in his hand. Murderface just rolled his eyes and muttered something to do with alcohol poisoning before finally arriving at the doorway of the drummer's bedroom. He let go of the collar of Pickles' shirt from where he was pulling him and let him fall to the floor, eliciting a displeased groan from the redhead.  
“There. Have a good night, shithead.” Murderface said, turning to walk away and resume his own mission of getting super drunk.  
“Doooood,” Pickles slurred, taking a great amount of effort to drag himself to a sitting position, leaning heavily on his door. “Dood, wait...”  
William turned around to look at him and scoffed. “What, you want me to carry you in, princess?”  
“I'd like dat, yeah.” Pickles grinned, before erupting into a little fit of giggles and hiccups. He popped the spout of his tequila bottle in his mouth and took another swig, grimacing at the flavour. He swallowed it down and put the bottle on the stone floor with a loud 'clink'. “C'mahn, pleeease? I wanna go t' bed an' I don' think I can maaake it...” he tilted his head back to look up at the keypad that would let him in the room. “Can' even reach...”  
“Hey, fuck you. I'm not carrying you into your room. That's fuckin' gay!” Murderface yelled, turning away and walking a few more steps down the hall.  
“Well can yew at least open th' door fer me so I can drag my drunk ass t' beeed?” Pickles yelled back, throwing his bottle in William's direction. It hit the plush carpet lining the middle of the hallway with a dull thud and spilled the remainder of it's contents out on the dark red surface.  
The bassist turned around with an exhausted groan. “Holy shit, fine. You whiny fuckin' baby.” he walked over to the door and quickly punched in a code in the keypad. The door slid open, catching Pickles off guard and causing him to fall backwards into his room with a small yelp. He smacked his head off the floor again, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes.  
“Shit, dood! Ya don't gatta be so mean!” he rolled onto his belly slowly and began to pathetically worm his way over to the bed.  
William watched him for a second, finding it hilarious at first, before taking pity on the poor drunk bastard and walking over to him. “Alright, that's enough of that.” he said, hooking his hands under his armpits and dragging him over to the bed.  
“Heh, thanks dood...” Pickles said, staring up at the bassist with a drunken, lazy smile. He happily crawled onto his bed, kicking his shoes and half-pulling his pants off. “Yer a sweetheart.”  
Murderface scoffed again, crossing his arms and grabbing the bottom of Pickles' pant leg to help him get them off. “You're so fucking gay.”  
“Says the guy pullin' my pants off.” Pickles snickered. “But, yeah. I'm pretty fuckin' gay. So are yew.”  
“What do you mean by that?!” Murderface yelled, throwing the pants on the ground. “I'm just helping out a fellow band mate! Fuck you, Pickles!”  
“Hey! No need t' be so fuckin' rude, yanno! Gay ain't a bad thing.” Pickles defended. “Yew jest come ahff as... yanno... really super gay sometimes...”  
“Like how?! When?!” William demanded to know, feeling irritation and panic bubble up inside of him simultaneously.  
“Weeeellllllll... when yew say all dat homophobic shit, like, 'yer so fuckin' gay'. Jest yew sayin' it like it's a bad thing is like... some repressed homophobia, or whatever...” Pickles shrugged, casting a glance over at his night stand and grinning when he saw a half-finished beer from earlier in the day. He snatched it up quickly and tossed it back, swallowing the luke warm liquid greedily.  
“Fuck you, asshole! I'm not repressed!” the bassist said, adamant. “Something's wrong with you...” he murmured irritatedly.  
“Oh whatever, ya big gay lump. Yew are by far the most closeted dood I've ever met! Which is sayin' somethin'.” Pickles insisted. “After all, I was in Snakes 'n' Barrels.”  
Murderface scoffed, sitting at the edge of the bed. He figured he should sit down, it seemed like he'd be here a while. “Yeah, and you're sitting here, telling me I'm gay, when you were in that fairy band?”  
“I ain't denyin' th' fact that I may or may not have sucked a few dicks in my time.” Pickles admitted, frowning at the empty beer bottle in his hand and setting it down in the bed beside him. “Yew've seen th' pictures. Fuck sakes, I wore neon crop-tops an' fuckin' silver leggings. I owned more dildos than shirts. I had a pair of fuckin' seven inch platform heels, an' I fuckin' rocked em. An' I fucked everybody.”  
William just stared at him, at a loss for what to say. Half of him was screaming that his band mate was a glitter-covered fag and that he should get out of there ASAP before he gets jumped by his gay ass, but the other half was extremely intrigued by the drummer's words, and wanted to hear more. “... Everybody...?” was all he managed to squeak out.  
The drummer nodded, looking up at him and shrugging sloppily. “Well, yeah... doods, chicks, both, neither... I didn't discriminate. Jest wanted t' get ahff.” he chuckled. “Hell, didn't even know who I was fuckin' half the time...”  
Murderface always knew Pickles wasn't straight. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it was just common knowledge. But hearing it? Acknowledging it? That was a whole different story. Suddenly, the bassist saw the drummer in a whole new light.  
“... So, uh... is that why you're always walking funny after you and Nathan have a 'personal writing session'...?” he asked quietly and awkwardly.  
Pickles raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't say anything. He was silent for a minute before he erupted into a fit of laughter, arms wrapped around his middle and rolling onto his side. He kicked his legs against the bed rapidly during his fit, shoving his face into a pillow as he howled and screamed in hysterics. It took him a good two minutes before he could form any words. “DOOD... YEW THINK I'M FUCKIN' NATE'N?!” he belted.  
Murderface just stared bewildered as his band mate wiggled and bounced and screamed in laughter on the bed. “Well, I think it's a fair assumption-”  
“NO! Dood, ya don't get it!!!” Pickles wheezed, rolling onto his back and wiping tears from his eyes. “I fuckin' tell ya all this gay shit 'bout me, an' yer main concern is if I'm fuckin' Nate'n? Wow, maybe yer not th' homophobic douche-canoe I thought yew was.”  
“So, wait, you were lying?” William said, incredulous.  
Pickles giggled, shaking his head. “No, I wasn't lyin'. I like takin' dicks in the ass. An' to quench yer curiosities, I have fucked Nate'n. Ain't fuckin' 'm no more, though. Ever since Abigail showed up he's kinda lost interest in our little 'friends with benefits' thing.” his eyes widened for a second, as if he was surprised with himself. “Wow. Never thought I'd tell anyone 'bout dat. Guess yer special er somethin'.”  
Both the drummer and the bass player were silent for a moment, each caught up in their own thoughts. While William was thinking about everything Pickles had just confessed to and what that really meant, Pickles was thinking about lighting up a joint and getting someone to bring him a grilled cheese. Pickles soon found himself caught up in thoughts of grilled cheese sandwiches, and how delicious one would be at that moment. He drooled slightly at the thought of one, eyes closing in rapture. He was really caught up in his thoughts, and only really snapped out when he felt something hit his foot. His eyes snapped open and he looked over at Murderface, who was staring at him with a dark blush on his face like he wanted an answer to something.  
“... Dood, what?” the drummer said, leaning over to grab his weed, his grinder and his rolling papers from his nightstand.  
“I, uh, I asked you how it feels.” Murderface said bluntly.  
Pickles looked up at him from where he was preparing his joint with a raised eyebrow. “... How what feels? Ya gotta be more specific than that.” he brought his attention back to rolling his joint.  
“To do it with a guy!” the bassist blurted out. “I asked you how it feels to do it with a guy.”  
Pickles chuckled quietly, popping his finished joint between his lips and lighting it with one of his favourite zippo lighters. “Well,” he started, plucking the joint from his lips and blowing a steady stream of smoke out of his mouth. “it, uh... feels like yer fuckin' a dood. I dunno, man. I can't just explain gay sex. A dick goes in an ass. There's some movement. There's a lotta jizz. The end.” he reached out to offer the joint to Murderface, who gladly took it.  
Murderface took his hit, feeling more embarrassed than he had in months, which is saying something because he tended to be embarrassed and humiliated a lot. He knew it was stupid question to ask, but he couldn't help but feel curious.  
“I, uh, can show yew if ya want.” Pickles offered. “I mean, if ya really wanna know.”  
The bassist scowled, handing the redhead his joint back. “What, we're gonna be fuck buddies now?”  
“Why naht?” Pickles shrugged, flicking the ashes onto the blanket, one of his bad habits he'd never been able to rid himself of. He had a past of inadvertently setting blankets on fire. “Couldn't hurt.”  
“Dude, that's... that's so gay.”  
“Jesus Christ are we not past that yet? Look, I'm offerin' yew a no-strings-attached experience where yew get t' fuck a dood. Get it outta yer system. If we both like it, maybe we can continue. I dunno. Ya don't gotta be a 'that's so gay' fuckin' dickwad about it.” Pickles said, irritated. He took a few puffs of his joint, purposefully avoiding the bassist's eyes. It was awkward enough as it was, offering to sleep with him, he didn't have to deal with the judgmental scowls and insults he knew were coming, too. “Ya know what? Fuck it. Forget I said anythin'. I'm goin' t' bed.” he said, reaching over to stub his joint out on the wood of the nightstand and moving to go under the covers when suddenly he was pushed to the mattress and a sloppy, whiskey flavoured kiss was pressed against lips. He was still as the bassist kissed him, unsure as to how to react. He tentatively began kissing back after a moment of hesitation, bringing his hands up to rest them on William's shoulders.  
Murderface had no idea what he was doing. The homophobic side of his brain was just screaming at him, “GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY”, but that other, quieter half of him didn't give a flying fuck. He was kissing a dude, and he was enjoying it. So for once he shut himself up and just let himself feel. He let himself explore and get comfortable, and knew he was in a safe place with someone who wouldn't hurt him or push him away.  
But he drew the line when the drummer got a little too comfortable, backing away and breaking the kiss when his counterpart got a little bit too interested in what was going on.  
“Heh, sahrry.” Pickles said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and moving to cover his body from the waist down with a blanket.  
“It's fine.” William said, not meeting his gaze. God, he felt awkward. “Well, time to go.” he said, hoisting himself onto his feet. “This has been, uh... enlightening...”  
“... Yeah.” Pickles responded, staring at the bassist with a frown. “Sure.”  
Murderface stood there for a minute, staring down at the floor as he tried to decide what to do. Eventually, he settled for saying nothing and walking over to the door so he could leave.  
“Wait, dood,” Pickles said, stopping him.  
“What?” Murderface asked, his back still facing him. He just wanted to leave and go to his own bed.  
“... Thanks fer bringin' me t' bed.”  
“... Sure.”  
And then he left.


End file.
